


Summer in Winter

by lionsxroar



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Fluff, Historical, M/M, Oneshot, RusAme, wwi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 09:28:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3169844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionsxroar/pseuds/lionsxroar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred can't handle the cold well. Good thing Ivan is used to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer in Winter

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for a tumblr fic prompt that was given to me using the 'RusAme: Keeping the other warm' request. 
> 
> The translations to the Russian are there, just hover over the links.

     Alabaster flakes littered the Earth— draining the once green surroundings of any inkling of color. The bright and colorful terrain had become a solemn monochrome piece, bringing nothing but  _death_ to the land. Perhaps it was a fitting scenario— blood was easier to detect when it was trudging along the mounds of endless snow. It  _should_ be easier to detect. It covered the fields— dripping, smearing,  _taking_.

     This was their sanctuary.

 - - - 

     Blue eyes blinked— the red wash suddenly disappearing. A shiver crawled up his spine like an unwelcome guest, remembering that he  _shouldn’t_ be staring out the window. He should be listening. The vague voices of various arguments filled his senses, eyes flickering to watch the nations around him debating about petty things like economics and trade— was this all they ever talked about?

     A gentle sigh escaped his lips, mentally scolding himself for his inability to pay attention at meetings like this. This is why he  _hated_ conference rooms with windows. It gave him a reason to not pay attention. His gloved hands grabbed for the mug of coffee in front of him, eagerly taking a sip to see if  _perhaps_ it might warm him. To his dismay, he’d waited too long.

     His eyes scanned the room— Germany was heading the meeting.  _Again_. Why did they let him lead, again? He couldn’t find an answer. France and England were bickering in their seats, and America mused that it was more  _foreplay_ than anything else. The notion made him chuckle lightly to himself, making a note to mention it later to see how much  _more_ the two would argue over the suggestion.

     Across from him— he came in contact with brooding eyes that were focused on  _him_. Not on the meeting, not on the bickering, but on the American himself. He blinked again, grumbling under his breath. His own eyes pooled with annoyance, lip twitching as he stared at the all too familiar Russian grin that seemed to consume his better judgment. 

     Oh— how he wanted to  _beat_ that grin right off of his smug lips.  _  
_

He huffed lightly, _knowing_ that the Russian was only doing this on  _purpose_ to get a rise out of him. He was always trying to perfect his ability to annoy the life out of him. 

     ”What do you think, America?” 

     The voice interrupting his thoughts was distinctly German— meaning that all eyes were on him now. Giving one final glare at his Russian comrade, he focused his hues on the blonde nation heading today’s meeting. 

     Suddenly realizing he had no idea in the world what was being asked of him, he froze, blinking several times before parting his lips in an attempt to recover whatever dignity he had left. 

     ”Ah…” He started, realizing if he really had tried his best to avoid being the  _stupid_ one at the meeting today. Well— seems like his list of things not to do had become very empty now. 

     ”Who cares?” He deadpanned, staring back at the other. The response elicited a few chuckles from nations such as France and Japan— yet a scoff from England and a glare from Canada and China. Perhaps Germany’s gaze was a mixture of the two. 

     ”Just trade— right? As long as we can all play  _nice_ I’m willing to let it happen.” His shoulders shrugged, not particularly in the mood to argue over who gets to trade with which  _questionable_ nation. It was too damn cold for that. 

     The break hadn’t come soon enough. His ignorantly based comments had ended the discussion for now. Now that the  _trade_ arguments were out of the way, more mindless arguing would ensue. Huffing as he stood from his chair, starting to make his way towards the door, he could feel the insufferably cold eyes watching his every movement. 

     ”What’s gotten into you today?” Arthur’s words filled his ears as he perked up— grateful he now had a distraction. Before he could part his lips to answer, another voice interrupted. 

     ”Al is always a baby when he’s cold.” Interrupted the Canadian, rolling his eyes with an affectionate grin.  

     ”It’s not my fault all of you decide to meet in this  _godforsaken_ country in the middle of winter.” He huffed, glaring at the duo.

     Perhaps the pout and childish huff that escaped his lips was  _uncalled_ for— but he always felt funny when he was cold. Turning to exit the conference room to find more  _hot_ coffee, he left the other nations to talk amidst themselves in his absence. Despite leaving, he could still feel those piercing eyes watching him. 

     The coffee was less than comforting.  _Someone_ didn’t know how to work a coffee machine. Most of the nations preferred tea. At least  _their_ water was hot. 

     He seated himself along the windowsill, sipping the lukewarm caffeine. His eyebrows were laced with curiosity, studying each and every snowflake that fell—

\- - - 

     His breathing was uneven. His frozen lips gasping for air, eyelids heavy with exhaustion and defeat. He  _hated_ this. He hated fighting— he hated barely surviving. His shoulder’s shook wildly— eyes staring out at the open field: littered with powdery snow, fallen bodies, and blood.

     ”Daybreak is soon, [ЯГНЕНОК](http://./).”

     The thick accent interrupted his trembling, dark eyes watching him. The blonde couldn’t understand how the elder could  _stomach_ the cold temperatures. Despite being exposed to this often— it must be difficult for  _anyone_  to adjust to the freezing temperatures. If the two were  _human_ they’d be as blue as the carcasses littering the field were. Alfred wasn’t sure if he should feel thankful or not for that.

     The war had taken a toll on everyone— battles were won and battles were lost. He never ceased to understand why he agreed to battle on the Russian front other than for the simple reason that they didn’t have to do  _anything_. The cold took care of defeating the armies that sought destruction. Perhaps it was a double edged sword— allies and enemies alike had succumbed to the temperature. 

     ”Not soon enough.” He forced out, pale lips numb from the lack of heat. “Fuckin’ freezing…” Huffing, he tried his best to arch further into his own grasp, acting as if he pulled further  _into_ himself— he’d warm up. 

     A  _chuckle_ of all things escape the lips of the elder— he seemed to be amused by the lack of color in the American’s usually bright and cheerful face. In fact, Ivan might suggest that he  _preferred_ to see the American sheltered in the cold like this.

     ”Come here, [МАЛЬЧИК](http://./).” 

     The Russian’s voice perked his curiosity— somewhat  _confused_ by the command. Alfred had retained enough heat by moving his body back and forth— he wasn’t in the mood to  _lose_ that heat for a joke.

     ”No— what the hell for?” He argued, childish tone returning to him. Despite his level of experience with things like death and war— he never became accustomed to the scent of metal blood and the feeling of cold encasing his bones.  _Waiting_ was the hardest part of war. 

     ”Don’t make me ask again.” 

     Alfred wasn’t going to waste the breath to start an argument with the elder. He grumbled, nonetheless, scooting closer to the larger male next to him. He  _wanted_ to inquire why he had been asked to; but again, he wanted to try and keep whatever breath was left in his body  _inside_.

     His question had been answered in something other than words. A curious way, in fact. Something he hadn’t been expecting. Heavy arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him closer. His shoulders tensed as he gaped— instinctively pulling away from the arms that now held him rather  _tightly_.

     ”W-What in the hell—  _why_ are you touching me!? Let me go!” He argued, wiggling his shoulders to try and get himself away from the grasp of his  _captor_. 

     ”[ЦЫКАТЬ](http://./). It will keep you warm until daybreak.” The Russian responded harshly, not leaving room for any more arguing. Alfred grumbled at the response— however, he couldn’t deny the  _slight_ warmth that was produced. In fact, he felt his shoulders slowly lax, hunching against the body that held him tight. He was by no means  _warm_ — he was simply less cold. That was enough of a sanctuary for him now. 

     Ivan could only chuckle when he noticed the American’s eyes flutter shut— studying the boy’s features as he seemed to focus on keeping warm.

     "The color is back in your cheeks, [ЯГНЕНОК](http://./).” He mumbled this more so to himself, curious if it was the  _warmth_ or something else forcing the red on his cheeks. 

\- - - 

     His attention was brought back to  _present_ day cold when he heard a chuckle fill the room. How long had he been distracted? Well, his coffee cup was empty. And he was still  _cold._

     ”What the hell are you laughing at, Braginski?” He grumbled, hunching over to slowly rise— making his way over to the coffee pot once more. Maybe it would be  _warmer_ this time. To his disappointment (and much to the amusement of the pair of eyes that seemed to have nothing better to do than watch him), the coffee still wasn’t warm enough to satisfy him. Regardless, he took his cup and headed towards the conference room— break time ending in a matter of moments. 

     As he turned foot to leave, he cringed as he heard the elder speak for the first time since his arrival in Moscow. Nearly choking on his coffee— The American glared at the other, face slowly reddening at the notion. Was he just  _fucking_ with him at this point? Quickly making his way outside of the room— cheeks burning as the words rang through his ears like a bell.

     ”All you have to do is ask, [ЯГНЕНОК](http://./).”

     He would most  _certainly_ not be returning to Russia in the winter again.


End file.
